


Days go by

by Petra



Series: To live without it [1]
Category: due South
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-15
Updated: 2008-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 16:41:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17005293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petra/pseuds/Petra
Summary: For reasons that do not need exploring at this juncture, Ray has suddenly become his fifteen year old self.





	Days go by

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Teland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/gifts).



> This is as completely Te's fault as anything I've written. She made sure it made a modicum of sense outside my head.

"Holy shit," Ray says, running his hand over the GTO's hood. "And this is mine?"

Fraser nods, watching him -- his wrists are slim and unbraceleted, his hair a different sort of strange from what Fraser has come to expect in him, and he has a breathless quality that has everything to do with being, by all appearances and Ray's own account, fifteen. "Though I believe, by local laws, you're not qualified to drive it at this point."

"Damn." Ray whistles softly. "And you're a --" he smirks "-- Mountie, so you're not going to let me get away with it?"

"That's my job, yes." Fraser pats Ray's shoulder.

He vibrates. Crackles. There's more energy in him now than normal -- though Fraser would have said that was improbable -- and it comes boiling out of him in all directions. "Damn." Ray's grin is the only thing about him that has not changed, charming and reckless all at once. "You sure about that?"

Fraser has been pretending that he does not want to kiss Ray for the last four months.

It is not impossible to pretend it now, but it is no easier than any other day. Ray's wiry strength and the charisma that it does not seem possible that anyone could fit in such a lanky form -- he takes a deep breath. "Yes. Please take the passenger seat."

Diefenbaker nudges Ray's hand when he hesitates; Ray scratches the top of his head automatically. "Yeah, okay. It'd be a damn crime to scratch this beauty up."

The possibility that Fraser might be the one to cause it damage is not out of the question, but he doesn't say as much to Ray.

In the confined space of the car, Ray is more fidgety than ever. "Man," he says at the second red light, "you should've let me drive. We'd be there by now." He taps his fingers on his knees, then on the door. "I can't just watch you, man, do you always drive like this?"

"Often." Fraser keeps his eyes firmly on the road, though he can hear Ray shifting from side to side. "Really, Ray, you need to remember that the journey is as important as the destination. There's an Inuit story in which --"

"A what story?" Ray's incredulity is not his normal brush-off; it sounds more like real confusion than Ray -- the Ray Fraser knows -- would admit to.

"A native people of northern Canada."

"Right." Ray sits back in his seat, resettling for the fourth time in two blocks. "And in this -- northern Canadia people thing story, what happens?"

Fraser reminds himself again that this is not Ray, and that losing his temper will only make matters more difficult. "There's a journey and an impatient boy. The boy gets lost."

"Oh, hell no." Ray shakes his head. "I heard that one from the priest, not from some frozen guy in an igloo. I don't need it from you." He crosses his arms and stares out the window, still in sulkiness for the space of several breaths.

It does not give Fraser sufficient time to compose himself properly before Ray says, "Does it all come out in the end because of the saving power of Jesus and Mary, or does everyone freeze to death?"

Fraser swallows a laugh before he answers. "The boy freezes to death and is reborn as a caribou. At that point he learns to follow known paths."

Ray makes a face that suggests he has tasted something thoroughly disgusting. "Known paths? Jesus. You *must* be over thirty."

There have been various occasions in Fraser's life when he wished he could stop himself from blushing. This is another one. "Well. Yes." He is more than twice Ray's age.

He glances at Ray, who is grinning at him, and reminds himself again of that with the sort of force he has occasionally used to tell himself that Victoria Metcalf is a raging psychopath, that Ray Vecchio did not choose to leave, and that duty is more important than happiness.

He keeps his eyes on the road for five deep breaths while Ray laughs at him for being old, as if that is the biggest wall they have ever had between them.

It would be easier if Ray were still himself -- or so Fraser tells himself.

There will be a way to make things better, to make Ray return to his normal state.

And if there is not --

Ray wolfwhistles, piercingly, at a stop sign.

Fraser turns and sees a blonde woman, maybe twenty, in embarrassingly tight clothing. She looks nothing at all like Stella. "Do you have a girlfriend?" Fraser asks, which is easier than chiding him.

Ray stares at him with the fear of someone who took ten solid minutes, a newspaper, and a walk around the block to grasp the concept of temporal displacement. "Nope."

Fraser raises his eyebrows and does not mention how deeply he believes Ray is lying. "Ah."

"There's this girl --" Ray rubs the back of his neck "-- but she's not my girl, if you know what I mean. Just --" he shrugs down into his seat further. "Never mind."

"Consider it done." Fraser lets out a breath as silently as he can; it helps his sense of continuity that in this moment, as in all other ones, Ray's romantic attention is diverted by mere allusion to Stella.

Would that he had such an obsession with someone whose existence could distract him from Ray.


End file.
